


Prison Break

by LadyNogs



Series: Discord Fics [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Implied eventual OT3, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, OT3, no beta we die like renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNogs/pseuds/LadyNogs
Summary: A ficlet for the Yennskier and Die and Become a Bog Body discord, to get my brain working again - Geralt is taken for questioning, and Yennefer and Jaskier have to work together to get him out.  Shenanigans ensue.Inspired, in part, by the prologue of Witcher 2.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Discord Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934272
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Prison Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [some_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_stars/gifts).



> A gift for the lovely some_stars, who provided the prompt when I needed to kick my brain into gear again. Mind the warnings.

The first time the lash fell, Geralt realized that there was a good chance he wasn’t getting out of this one.

They’d taken him on the road north of Ghelibol, crossing the Nimnar. He’d been hoping to cross the Kestrels into Kaedwen before the weather turned, but he hadn’t expected Nilfgaardian special forces. The wind had been in their favor, and by the time he realized he’d ridden into an ambush, it was too late. Even a witcher wasn’t immune to a sap at the base of his skull.

He wasn’t certain where they’d taken him - by his reckoning, he’d been out like a light for at least ten hours, but blows to the head were tricky, and there was no light in his cell.

There was really only the one question to ask, and not so many ways to ask it, but his jailors had at least been thorough.

A witcher can take a lot of damage, and it seemed his jailors knew it. He could feel the grating of broken ribs on every inhale, and it took careful twisting to take future blows on the opposite side. Didn’t want to risk a punctured lung. His back was in ribbons - he had the dull headache that told him he’d lost too much blood.

At least Ciri was safe, at the Temple of Melitele in Ellander, with Yen. She’d be fine once they tired of his non-answers and finally killed him. Yen would take care of her. He wasn’t going to make his meeting with Jaskier in Ard Carraigh, and that brought a twinge of regret. With luck, Jaskier would head up the pass, and his brothers would make sure he was taken care of. There were worse things. He heard the rattle of keys again, and flinched despite himself.

* * *

When Geralt failed to meet him in Ard Carraigh, the first thing Jaskier did was reach for the xenovox that Yennefer had given him when they parted ways in the spring. He and the sorceress had made an uneasy truce, many months ago, when she had deposited a badly wounded Geralt and a traumatized little girl in his rooms at Oxenfurt and collapsed into his bed to sleep for three days. He still didn’t trust her not to castrate him in his sleep for annoying her, but he knew that if Geralt hadn’t made it to Ard Carraigh before he did, something was wrong, and Yennefer was the strongest mage on the Continent.

“Bard,” Yennefer drawled, her voice only slightly distorted by the xenovox. “This had better be important.”

“Geralt’s missing.” If it weren’t serious, he’d have needled her back, but this was important.

“Missing?”

“We were supposed to meet in Ard Carraigh before the first frost. He isn’t here.” He was very proud of how calm he’d managed to keep his voice, though he could feel the tremor in his hands. “He said he had a contract in Ghelibol that he wanted to take care of, and I had an appointment to keep in Hagge.”

“Meet me at the Stag and Hare in half an hour.” Her voice was cold, but Jaskier found it strangely reassuring. The xenovox crackled as she cut the connection.

* * *

They weren’t at the Stag and Hare for long - just long enough for Jaskier to repeat, word for word, his last conversation with Geralt. Thank all the gods for a musician’s memory. Yennefer sat silently for a moment before she stood and swept out the door of the inn with Jaskier on her heels.

“Wait, Yennefer! Where are you going?”

“Ghelibol. Alone, bard.” She was striding away down a blind alley.

“Yeah, no, that doesn’t work for me. What if he’s hurt?” The sorceress laughed, a mocking little chuckle.

“Then I’ll heal him, bard.”

“Well...yes, that makes sense, I suppose, but…”

“No buts, bard. You’ll only get in my way.” 

“Yennefer...please.” She paused, head turned to look back at him over her shoulder. Jaskier stood in the dim light of the inn’s windows. “I just want to help.” There was a long silence, and Jaskier could practically _hear_ the gears turning in her head.

“Fine. Don’t slow me down.”

* * *

Geralt wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Long enough for his back to scab over, and then crack and bleed again under a fresh flogging. Long enough for his ribs to start to knit back together. He had been doused with a bucket at one point, and there had been knives, he thought. Hard to tell, with the pain and the blood loss. They’d mostly stayed away from his head, but not entirely, and he could feel the split in his lip with his tongue. Everything hurt.

The question hadn’t changed, and he still wasn’t answering it, but he’d stopped hiding his flinches. He didn’t have much hope of escape, but no amount of hopelessness was enough to quell the instinct to find a weakness and exploit it. When the keys jangled again, he let himself whimper and pull at the manacles, let himself squeeze his eyes shut against the torchlight that he knew would be coming to blind him.

There was a scrabbling sound at the door, like whoever had the keys wasn’t sure which one fit the lock, and a muffled curse, and then there was light behind his eyelids, light and less-muffled cursing, and the scent of lilac and gooseberries like something out of a fever dream, and he took a deep breath, instinctive, terrible, and promptly passed out from the sharp fresh agony in his ribs.

* * *

He hadn’t expected to wake up in a bed.

It was, to be fair, a very lovely bed. His ribs ached, but it was the ache of fresh healing, not the agony of untended injury. His back and wrists had been bandaged, and he was clean. Either this was some sort of afterlife, or the vision he’d had in his cell wasn’t a hallucination. He took a deep breath, scenting the air - lilac and gooseberries, though faint, linseed oil, musk and vetiver. So it wasn’t just Yen, but Jaskier, too. Opening his eyes was difficult - he was half afraid he’d open them on the bleak darkness of the cell again, but he made himself look.

It was a small room, for Yen. A guest room, then. A single candle burned on the table by the bed, and a tray with a crisp white cloth over its contents set beside it.

“Ah, you’re awake, good.” Jaskier’s voice was quiet, and Geralt flicked his eyes over the bard, assessing. No injuries that he could see, good. He was in shirtsleeves and bare feet, and he was setting aside a notebook to come to the bedside. He pressed a hand to Geralt’s brow. “And the fever’s broken. There’s broth, if you’re hungry. Yen said you might be.”

“Since when do you call her Yen?” Gods, his voice was wrecked. He winced at the rasp in his voice.

“Since I assisted in your daring rescue, my dear.” Jaskier grinned at him, but Geralt could see the lines of worry in his face. It took far more effort than it should have to push himself up to a sitting position, his arms wobbling like a newborn foal. “I’ll tell you all about it while you eat, and then you should try to get some more rest.”


End file.
